Laughter in the Bitter Night
by Mister Vix
Summary: Something I wrote on spur of the moment. Beware of freakiness. A strange tale of an Umbreon...


True to the Moon  
  
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Disclaimer: I do not own Pokemon.  
  
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"Chill night, bitter night.  
  
Sweet is the dark.  
  
Sweet is the moon beneath which I run.  
  
Far behind are the cries of hatred and of fear.  
  
Bitter cries in the bitter night, and the acrid taste of blood.  
  
Killed again, but still breathing, still running, still bleeding.  
  
Neverending fear, hatred bottomless.  
  
Laughter in the bitter night!"  
  
-Darklife's song.  
  
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Darklife vanished with a mad laugh. The shotgun smoke hung in the breathless night. Dark blood made a small pool on the ground. The hunter sighed. Perhaps the stories were true; perhaps Darklife was immortal. Darklife was an Umbreon, one who, stories said, had lived for a hundred years. And though he had been shot innumerable times by fearful farmers and bounty-seeking hunters, he had never died.  
  
The hunter's head shot up from staring into the fire to a bone-chilling sound. A voice that never belonged to any human, echoing across the hills.  
  
"Chill night, bitter night. Sweet is the dark. Sweet is the moon beneath which I run. Far behind are the cries of hatred and of fear. Bitter cries in the bitter night, and the acrid taste of blood. Killed again, but still breathing, still running, still bleeding. Neverending fear, hatred bottomless. Laughter in the bitter night." The strange, almost dirgelike song ended in sharp laughter that faded slowly.  
  
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Into the pool of light limped the Umbreon. His coat, which had once been glossy black, was a grey almost white, and in ragged patches. His eyes were glazed and blind, and his useless ears were folded against his head. There in the center of the light stood a stone, through which veins of what, to any human, would seem nothing but common quartz. But to the Umbreon, they were veins of life.  
  
The decrepite old Pokemon lay down just beneath the rock as the sun continued to rise, and there he stayed the day through.  
  
  
  
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"I shot him straight through the heart, I'm sure of it," the hunter said quietly to those beside him. They nodded; they too had tried a shot at the legendary Darklife. And many would try again.  
  
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Darklife's song echoed through the night again, and the woman shook her head. "He's foiled another hunter. They'll never get him," she murmured. The song had allready risen three times this night.  
  
Her eyes went wide as the Umbreon, blood dripping from a hole centered right between his eyes, slowly walked through the open door, laughing. She couldn't get a word from her throat; she felt like someone was strangling her. Through the window behind her, Darklife saw a small sliver of light beginning to appear. Snarling, he backed out, vanishing into the night. The woman fell over in a faint.  
  
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The ancient Umbreon sighed as he lowered his frail body down by the stone. He was tired. ____________________________________________________________________________ ______  
  
  
  
A pair of hunters, wearing their camoflauge, hunted through the sunset-lit forest. Darklife was no longer a sport for them to take an occasional shot at. He had tried to attack a woman. The stories said Darklife killed men for sport the way they tried to kill him, but...stories couldn't alway be believed, and this was the first time in any man's memory that he had actually tried. Always before he had appeared to someone outside at night, laughing at them, then vanishing, usually after being shot.  
  
They stumbled into a clearing, marked by a large stone, veined with quartz. The hunters sighed. "Good a place to stop as any," one muttered, and the others nodded their agreement. The sun began to sink.  
  
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His vivid red eyes cast no light to startle prey. He stared down at the hunters from on top of the quartz-veined boulder, the golden glow on his bands dimmed in 'hunting mode'. With a silent leap, he came down on the first one's head, his fangs closing about the man's neck and slicing through muscle and spine easily. The only sound was when the hunter's body fell to the ground. The other man bounded to his feet, gun in hand, looking around. A twisted grin was on his face; he knew he was going to die. He was right. ____________________________________________________________________________ ______  
  
  
  
The large group of men were marching up to the quartz stone early in the morning, before first light. It was two days after the pair of hunters had been found, dead and picked clean by Murkrow.  
  
The watchmen made a circle around the stone, staring out into the woods. A shuffling in the brush brought all attention there. Jaws dropped all around.  
  
It was a wretched, pitifull creature that dragged itself out of the brush. A murmer went up among the men. The Umbreon slowly, painfully, raised its head, staring at them with blind eyes. Then it cackled in a thin voice.  
  
  
  
"Chill night, bitter night. Sweet is the dark. Sweet is the moon beneath which I run. Far behind are the cries of hatred and of fear. Bitter cries in the bitter night, and the acrid taste of blood. Killed again, but still breathing, still running, still bleeding. Neverending fear, hatred bottomless. Laughter in the bitter night!" he cried, before lunging at them. Just for a moment, a flicker, the aura of the grand beast he was surrounded him, vivid eyes glaring, mocking death. And then the crack of a rifle shot, and the ancient Pokemon fell. The hunters did not make a sound as they slowly put their guns away. No one knew who shot. No one could be sure it was not their own hands that clenched until they pulled the trigger. No one checked to see; no one wanted to know. But on every one hung a sence of doing something terrible, and at the same time something that was right. No one said a word as they left the clearing, and the body of the ancient Umbreon.  
  
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The old woman closed the book and set it on the shelf. The two children looked more awed than frightened by the story.  
  
"Did Darklife really die, Grammy?" asked the girl.  
  
"Nobody knows for sure," the old woman replied. "But nobody ever heard whisper of him again after that." All three heads snapped up to stare out the dark window, as a thin sound came on the wind. "Chill night, bitter night. Sweet is the dark. Sweet is the moon beneath which I run. Far behind are the cries of hatred and of fear. Bitter cries in the bitter night, and the acrid taste of blood. Killed again, but still breathing, still running, still bleeding. Neverending fear, hatred bottomless. Laughter in the bitter night!" 


End file.
